


Happy Birthday

by katedf



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:09:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1232827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katedf/pseuds/katedf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard's birthday is approaching, and he doesn't want anything to do with it. So Camille finds a way to help him celebrate.<br/>M for language and sexual references.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The team had solved a case that morning and completed the paperwork in the afternoon. Richard was usually rather pleased with himself at the conclusion of a case, but today he was subdued. Now that she thought about it, Camille realized that Richard had been quiet the last few days. He hadn’t even complained about the heat all day and it was very hot, even by Saint Marie’s standards.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Receiving no answer, she tried again, “Are you all right?” 

“Hmm? Oh, just a little tired.”

Camille frowned. This wasn’t like Richard. He always had something to grumble about.

“Are you coming down with something?” Camille resisted the temptation to feel his forehead. It would be hot. ANYONE’s forehead would be hot on a day like this. 

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure, because—”

“Let it go!”

“Ohhhkay. So you don’t want to celebrate.”

“No. Celebrate what?”

“Closing the Charlevois case.” Camille tucked a folder into a file cabinet and slammed the drawer shut with her hip. “You might think about going a little crazy and having a beer.”

Richard shrugged. “Maybe”

“Oh, come on, be a party animal! I won’t expect it every time, just once. We haven’t had a party since our annual reviews.”

“Well, when our reviews come up again next year, if I haven’t been fired and sent to someplace hotter, we’ll have another party. How’s that?”

“Insufficient!” Camille huffed. “You need to work on your liming skills. I’m going to talk to the Commissioner and have that put on your review for next year.”

“Liming is not a police skill, Camille.”

“It’s a people skill, and police officers need people skills. Honestly, this is as bad as—” she stopped because she thought she’d figured it out. _as bad as the time you ran away from your own birthday party._

He gave her that irritated “what?” look.

“As bad as you not wanting to go to the Carnival parade with us.”

Richard shook his head and went back to his paperwork. 

Camille let the conversation drop. She jiggled her mouse to wake up her computer. Personnel records were subject to privacy controls, and her access to them was limited. But she could see the basics. She was right, his birthday was coming up. Was he afraid of another surprise party? He never wanted to be the center of attention unless it was a situation he could control. And that was only when he was ready to make an arrest and had all the answers. He had no control over the emotions of his team or their affection for him, and that terrified him. 

Over the past year, Richard had become more open to their friendship, even socialized with them after work and sometimes on weekends. After Aimee’s death and the Anderson murder, Camille felt that they had become closer, more supportive of each other. And the night of the almost-hurricane, he’d opened up to an extent she hadn’t anticipated. When she said he didn’t have to do puzzles alone any more, she meant it. She liked being by his side, working things out together. She’d begun to think their partnership might one day be more than just as detectives.

So now Richard was unhappy, and she wanted to help. This was more than just worry about the embarrassment of being the birthday boy. He seemed a little depressed. Sad. A cranky Richard, she could usually handle. But a sad Richard was a different problem. She couldn’t cheer him up unless she knew why he was sad. 

She looked again at his file, what little was available to her. She couldn’t see his annual review or response, which was only proper. Anyway, that wasn’t the bit of data she needed. Ah, there it was. 

-o-o-o-o-

The team, including Richard, went to La Kaz to celebrate closing the case. Despite Camille’s suggestion, Richard stuck to his usual tea. Everything seemed to be in slow motion because of the heat. 

Clouds were building up over the ocean. Dwayne pointed to them and said, “I think we’re in for a thunderstorm.”

“It can’t stay this hot and humid for long,” Fidel added. “Days like this, it feels like it, I don’t know, like it _needs_ to rain.”

“Good description, Fidel,” said Richard. "The hot air rises, carrying moisture upward. The clouds build up and then it storms. In fact, I think I should be getting home before the storm breaks.”

Camille looked at Richard and said, “Are you sure you’re all right? That’s the shortest description of a scientific phenomenon you’ve ever given.”

“It’s quite simple, really,” Richard replied, using his hands to demonstrate. 

“Most air rises,” he made a swirling move while his arm rose. 

“Clouds form and friction inside the cloud builds up a static charge,” he rubbed his hands together. 

“Then we get a thunderstorm,” he moved his hands apart quickly. 

Camille, who had always found this particular aspect of meteorology interesting, asked, “What? No discussion of condensation, onshore winds, induced charge on the ground…?”

“Obviously not needed, since you know about it already. Good night. See you all tomorrow.”

-o-o-o-o-

After Dwayne and Fidel left, Catherine went to sit with her daughter.

“What’s wrong with Richard? He passed up an opportunity to give a lecture.”

“I know,” Camille said. “He’s been kind of quiet lately. Almost brooding. But I think I’ve figured it out.”

“What’s going on?”

“Remember when he hadn’t been here very long and we tried to celebrate his birthday?”

“Of course, I remember. It’s the only time I’ve seen someone run away from his own birthday. OH! That was about a year ago, wasn’t it? So you think he’s worried that we’ll try to give him a party again this year?”

“I think it’s more than that. I checked his records, and it’s a big one. Maman, what’s so scary about turning 40?”

“Oh, ma chère, I hardly remember. I spent most of my fortieth year arguing with you. Were you going to go to university on Guadeloupe? Were you going to university at all, or were you going to marry Jean-whatever?”

“Jean-Pierre.”

“Dreadful boy, at least you didn’t do that. And then there were the fights over going to Paris, learning to sky dive, getting your nose pierced…”

“Those last two were just to wear you down over Paris.”

“I suppose I know that now. But ma chère, your late teens were absolute hell for me. I hope someday if you have a daughter, she pays you back on behalf of her grandmère. Which reminds me, could you please give me a grandchild before YOU turn forty?”

Camille sighed softly, which surprised Catherine. The usual response to such hints was rolled eyes and a shake of the head. Richard’s sadness seemed to be contagious. She watched her daughter for a moment, then stood.

“Good night, ma chère,” she kissed Camille on the top of the head. As she watched Camille walk out of the bar, Catherine tried to decide if she wished for Camille to get over Richard or for Richard to return her affections. 

-o-o-o-o-

The next morning, Fidel commented that the Chief’s birthday must be coming up. “He’s been here more than a year, and his birthday wasn’t that long after he got here. Should we try again to have a party?”

“You know I love a party,” said Dwayne, “But I don’t think the Chief will want a surprise party. He was uncomfortable enough about the annual review party, and that was for the whole team.”

“No party,” said Camille. “I think his birthday is what has been bothering him lately. Let’s not push it.”

Dwayne raised his eyebrows.

“What?” Camille said defensively.

“Since when do you not want to push it?”

“If he grumbles about something, I push it. If it bothers him so much that he won’t even grumble about it, I think we should give him some space. It was funny last year, but…” she shrugged. Seeing Richard coming up the stairs she said, “So until a call comes in, I guess we’ll just—oh, good morning Richard.”

And all discussion of parties and birthdays ended.

-o-o-o-o-

On the morning of this fortieth birthday, Richard woke early. A present from his parents had arrived a few days before, but he waited until this morning top open it. The gift was a Kindle and a large credit for e-books. He shook his head. If he were younger, an electronic gadget would be just the thing. But he liked the feel of a book in his hand. God, he was old. Still, it was a practical idea for a present. When he printed out the entire _Count of Monte Cristo,_ he’d felt guilty for using all that paper, and reimbursed the station for a ream of paper and a printer cartridge. So given his limited literary resources on Saint Marie, it was an excellent gift.

Nobody had said anything yet about his birthday. So they were either in stealth mode or were giving him space. He hoped for the latter. In case they hadn’t remembered his birthday, he did not want a repeat of the embarrassing phone call from his parents. So he made a preemptive call to England. 

_“Hello, Richard, is that you?”_

“Yes. Hi, Mum.”

_“Happy birthday, darling!_

Richard heard his mother whispering frantically and then his father picked up the extension and they began to sing. Richard smiled, more at his success in warding off a call at work than in pleasure at the greeting. 

_“Happy Birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday dear Richard, Happy birthday to you!”_

“Thank you. Lovely to hear you sing to me. And thank you for the gift. I will make good use of it.”

_“It’s got a book already loaded onto it.”_

Richard heard his mother giggle and didn’t want to ask why, so he said, “I just opened it this morning. Didn’t want to, you know, cheat on the day.”

_“Well, read that first!”_

“Right, Mum. I have to charge it, and then I’ll start reading. I, um, have to go to work now.”

_“Happy birthday, darling! We miss you!”_

“Miss you, too. Really must go now. And, um, please don’t call me at the station.”

_“Oh, Richard, that was your fault for putting it on speakerphone.”_

“Right, well, anyway, must go. We’ll talk soon, bye.” As he ended the call, Richard thought back a year. When had he told his mother their birthday call had been on speakerphone?


	2. Chapter 2

Richard sat on his veranda, finally able to relax. He’d made it through the day without birthday wishes, banners, cards, or a party. He took a swig of beer and turned on his birthday present. He found the reader surprisingly comfortable to hold, and with only one book on it, easy to navigate. He was surprised at his mother’s choice. It had been a best-seller, but was this really a book a Mum gave to her son? He stared at the cover picture, wondering if he was really going to read this.

Camille tiptoed along the veranda, and saw Richard staring at a Kindle. It must have been a present. It wasn’t something she’d expect him to buy for himself. She ducked back out of sight, lit the sparkler, and walked toward him.

“Happy Birthday!”

Richard looked up and scowled, “Didn’t I make it clear last year that I really don’t like birthday parties?”

“It isn’t a party. It’s just me. Did you know it’s illegal to spend your birthday all alone, reading?”

He quickly closed the cover on his Kindle, “No it isn’t.”

“Well then, it should be. Especially a big one.”

“Camille,” he said in an exasperated tone, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can talk for HOURS about a case, but you won’t talk about yourself for more than five minutes, and rarely even that. Is turning forty really so frightening?”

“It’s the halfway point, isn’t it? If I’m lucky.”

“All the more reason to cherish life, embrace it, not hide away from it.”

“You don’t understand. It’s a long way off for you.”

“Not so long. I’ve celebrated a few anniversaries of turning 29, you know. And it’s supposed to bother women more. An older man can always get a younger woman. An older woman …” Camille shrugged “She has fewer opportunities.”

“You’re hardly an older woman.” Richard took a swig of his beer as the sparkler fizzled out. Camille took the bottle from him.

“No more beer. It’s your birthday, you should have champagne."

“It’s French,” he grumbled, reaching for the beer.

“Bien sûr! We invented it, you know. Merci, Dom Perignon!”

“English! My house, my rules.”

“My wine, my glasses,” she retorted, pulling a bottle and two flutes from a tote bag.

She poured the wine and raised her glass. “To you, Richard. Thank you for sharing your birthday with me.”

“You didn’t exactly give me a choice,” he grumbled, but he smiled and clinked her glass.

“And now, your birthday cake!” said Camille, as she pulled the sparkler out of the cake.

“No, it’s got bits of metal on it.”

“Oh, just a bit of iron, it’ll make your blood stronger.”

“No it won’t. Iron must be ingested in a soluble form in order to be—”

“Shut up, Richard!” Camille broke off a piece of cupcake and popped it into his mouth. 

She deliberately took a long time to lick a bit of icing off her fingers. Richard took a large swig of his wine. Camille topped up the glasses.

“See, that didn’t hurt! And now presents!”

“Camille, you didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did. I thought about getting you forty presents, but I didn’t have forty ideas. So there are only two. Although, one does have forty pieces.” She handed him a gift bag. He pulled out a plastic zip-top bag. His eyes widened as he opened the bag and inhaled the scent.

“Oh, my God, where did you get these? Are you telling me there was a source of shortbread on this island and nobody told me?”

“No, but there’s a source now.”

“I can’t believe it. I wasn’t aware of a new bakery opening anywhere. And it smells just like Mum’s shortbread.”

“It’s the almond extract.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s your mother’s recipe. I called her to get it.”

“Wait, you BAKED these? 

“Uh huh. I hope they came out okay.”

“You called my MOTHER?”

“Yes, I got her number from your emergency contact information”

“You used my emergency information to call her for a RECIPE? She didn’t say anything to me.”

“I swore her to secrecy. I said we wanted to have a party for you, and wanted to make something special, something that she would make if you were home. Something you couldn’t get here. Her first suggestion was Yorkshire pudding, but I told her that Maman had that recipe already. Your mother was pleased that I wanted to do something for you. She’s very sweet.”

“Camille, I don’t know what to say. I … nobody’s ever… Thank you.””

“You’re welcome. I cut it into 40 pieces, to make it appropriate.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance that as the number of pieces decreases, I’ll get any younger, is there? Like Mordred and the youthening potion?”

“I don’t think so. Forty isn’t so old, Richard.”

He shrugged. _It is compared to 34._

“I have another present for you.” Camille handed Richard an envelope.

He opened the envelope and took out the brochure. He turned it over as if he had never seen a hotel brochure before. He read the slip of paper stapled to the brochure and then looked at Camille.

“It’s an open booking for the weekend of our choice,” she explained.

“It’s on Guadeloupe.”

“Yes. I thought if we had a weekend where there was no case, we could go over on the Friday evening ferry and come home on Sunday afternoon.”

“We?”

“Yes, we. It’s a double room, after all.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Camille sighed. “Oh, Richard, you’re a detective. What would it look like if you found this on my desk?”

“That you were going away for the weekend with someone.”

“Yes! That’s what I want us to do. Go away for a weekend.”

“Us?”

“First person, plural. Us, we. You and me, together in a cottage at the edge of the rainforest. Very cosy, very private.”

“You want to go to Guadeloupe for, um, a tryst?”

“What a funny old-fashioned word. I suppose so, yes. If you insist on being chivalrous, I suppose we could get a room with two beds. But I was hoping that by then it wouldn’t be our first time. I mean, you know, it is your birthday and…”

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“It’s against the rules.”

“Some rules are taken more seriously than others. Look at Dwayne. He can’t count the women he’s been with, and he isn’t getting in trouble for it.”

“He’s never been with a colleague.”

“Nobody will mind. And don’t say you enjoy your monastic life, because I know you appreciate women. I’ve seen you ogle plenty of women.”

“I don’t ogle.”

“Yes, you do. Which is why I want to stay in a private cottage NOT facing the beach. That way you won’t have a view of every top-heavy bikini-wearing woman on the island.”

“I wouldn’t ogle them.”

“Richard, I’ve seen you ogle. I remember that woman who was pretending to be a treasure hunter. You couldn’t take your eyes off her chest.”

“I didn’t do that.”

“Yes, you did.” Camille sighed and looked down. “I know that I don’t have, that I’m not as—”

“I’m sure your breasts are perfect, Camille. I mean, obviously I’m not SURE because I haven’t seen them, but you’ve worn rather skimpy, um, so I imagine that they are—I mean I don’t sit around imagining your breasts.” Even in the moonlight, Camille could see that he had gone scarlet. She smiled.

“You don’t have to imagine them, Richard,” she said, as she undid a few buttons of her shirt. She stood up, and sat on his lap, straddling his thighs. Taking advantage of his slack-jawed expression, she took his face in her hands and kissed him. Thoroughly.

“Camille, no.”

“Richard, yes,” She undid his tie and tossed it onto the table. She kissed him again and started to unbutton his shirt. She murmured, “You should be doing something. There are still some buttons left on my shirt.”

“Camille STOP IT!” Richard grasped her arms and pushed her away. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t want this.” Camille was quite certain that he did. Or at least his body did. His mind seemed to be trying to get in the way.

“Yes, of course. No. Dammit, no. Look, I know you mean well, but leave me some shred of pride. I don’t want to be just a pity—”

“You think this is a PITY fuck? Is that it? Richard, I have NEVER in my life been with a man because I pitied him. I don’t pity you. I don’t have to! You pity yourself enough for the whole island. If I wanted to give you sex because I PITIED you, I’d hire a woman to show up here and fuck you while she sang Happy Birthday.”

“Prostitution is illegal.”

“Well fine,” she said, standing up. “You’d have the option of arresting her, if that would give you more pleasure. And then you could arrest me for hiring her. Two collars for the price of one, what a birthday present. And throw in my humiliation for a bonus.”

Camille picked up the champagne bottle. For a second, Richard thought she was going to hit him with it. Instead, she hurled it onto the beach. “Bloody fucking HELL!”

Richard had seen Camille angry many times, usually at him. But he had never seen her THIS angry. She was shaking and muttering in French. He couldn’t get all of what she said, but he heard a few phrases, including _tomber amoureux_ and _l’homme le plus ennuyant_ and _le plus irritant sur Saint Marie._

It didn’t make a lot of sense. He confused _tambour_ with _tomber_ and thought it meant “drum,” rather than “fall.” But _amoreux_ was pretty obvious, and he pieced together “most irritating man on Saint Marie.” She’d said that before.

It was a stupid thing to say, but it was out of his mouth before he could stop himself, “Well, it’s a small island.”

She was about to leave, but that stopped her in her tracks. He’d understood at least some of what she’d said. She turned to look at him.

He walked toward her. “I apologize. You’re right, I’ve been feeling very sorry for myself. And my self-pity caused me to completely misunderstand your intentions. I couldn’t believe my good fortune to have you here, with me, wanting to … wanting me. I mean, I know I’m the most irritating man on the island. But that seems only fair. I’m in love with the most irritating woman in the Caribbean.”

Camille calmed as he spoke. She smiled and said, “Well, it’s a small sea.”

If Camille had initiated the first kiss, this time it was Richard. She didn’t notice him doing it, but he managed to undo the rest of the buttons on her blouse while kissing her senseless. He pulled back, looked at her, and sighed, “I was right. Your breasts are perfect. And yes, I imagined them. More than I like to admit. I’ve wanted you for such a long time.”

“I’m yours, Richard. Not just because it’s your birthday. For as long as you want me.”

He took her hand and led her into the house. “I should warn you, I’m out of practice.”

She smiled, “So am I. I’ve wanted you for a long time, too.”

The first time was over more quickly than Richard had wanted it to be. “Sorry, I did say I’m out of practice.”

Camille kissed him and said, “Just adds to the incentive to work on our skills some more. We should finish your birthday cake.”

She went out to the veranda to get the cupcake. Richard watched her, admiring her slender, toned body. Even more than her physical beauty, he admired her confidence, going outside naked like that. It was late and nobody was around, but he wouldn’t have done that. 

She sat on the bed, took a fingerful of icing, and held it out.

“No, it’s got contaminants on it.” 

“Iron, good for you.”

“Actually it’s iron oxide. When you light the sparkler, the iron burns. That’s oxidation. And it isn’t just iron. The colors come from other metals, like copper for green and strontium, ohhhh God.” He groaned as Camille licked the icing off her finger with a very slow, deliberate swipe of her tongue. She took another fingerful.

“Want some?” she teased. “I can’t see anything on it, so it’s just trace. You know, it’s like forensics. If you can’t see blobs of something, it’s just trace.” She put her finger to his lips and he licked the icing.

“Hmm,” she said, swiping the last of the icing off the cupcake. “There’s a bit left. What should we—”

Before she could say any more, he had transferred the icing to his finger and wiped it on her breast. 

“I think we need to clean that up,” he said, rolling her onto her back. Now it was her turn to groan. 

“Mmmm, Richard. Was that one of your imaginings?”

“Not exactly. In my dreams, it was sometimes treacle. More often whipped cream.”

“Oooh, that could be fun to play with.”

“Remind me to put it on the shopping list.”

Camille giggled. She rolled him onto his back and said, “It’s your birthday. You shouldn’t have to do all the work. I came here to entertain you.” And she did. (But she didn’t sing Happy Birthday.)

Later, as they lay together quietly in the dark, Camille said, “Richard?”

"Hmm?"

“I didn’t know you have a Kindle.”

“It, um, was a birthday present.”

Feeling him tense slightly, she said, “Do you have many books on it yet?”

“No, um, just one.” 

“Interesting choice.”

“What do you mean?” Richard blessed the darkness. At least she couldn’t see him blush.

“I saw the book cover when you didn't close the Kindle quickly enough. I’d have expected you to choose a classic.”

“Believe it or not, my Mum pre-loaded that for me.” 

“Wow. Do you think she’s read it?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t think I’ll bother with it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have a feeling that after being with you, anything in a book would seem tepid.”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t that book have a lot of chapters?”

“So will we,” Richard said as he pushed her gently onto her back. “Care to start another one?”


End file.
